


fireworks (i feel like glitter)

by spazgay



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Confessions, DNF, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Language, Nail Polish, No Smut, Sort Of, dreamnotfound, italics my beloved, painting nails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 15:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30024099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spazgay/pseuds/spazgay
Summary: george paints his nails, and of course clay notices//“D’you, uh,” he sighs. He cards his free hand through his hair, his face no longer slightly obscured in shadow. Now, George can see the freckles dotting his face and the dust of pink that sits atop them.“Could you maybe, whenever you’re free, and you can say no, of course, uh— do mine? I just— I just think that yours look nice and they’re really cool, so,”“Oh,” he’s increasingly aware of the fingers still wrapped around his wrist and the heat that blooms across his face, “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 287





	fireworks (i feel like glitter)

**Author's Note:**

> title from glitter by tyler the creator

They were having a stupid little argument. 

He wouldn’t even call it an _argument_ , no, more like Clay was being an absolute asshole and _relentlessly_ teasing George about the digital chess game he’d just gotten his ass kicked in. He’d messaged Clay on Discord something like, ‘ _get ur ass up here rn how dare you beat me like that_ ’,  and now they’re here.

“Yes, Georgie?” Clay says in a mockingly high voice. “Whatever do you need, Georgie?”

“You’re such an idiot,” George flicks a finger against Clay’s chest with a laugh, “You suck. Like _actually_ , you’re such—“

George goes to pull his hand away before tanned, calloused fingers wrap around his wrist and pull it up, closer to his face. Green eyes (more honey coloured to George, but whatever) skim across his fingertips.

Of _course_ Clay had to notice.

The night previous, in a sudden fit of ‘fuck it’ and pure boredom, he’d painted his nails. It had been nothing drastic, it was just opaque with little holographic strips of glitter. He figured no one would notice anytime soon. 

But no, of course Clay had, and George can’t have  _ shit  _ in this house.

_ Well fuck. _

He feels like that one time when he was younger, maybe fourteen or fifteen, when he’d gone over to a friends house for a while and he’d let her paint his nails. Of course, he came home looking positively  _ fruity  _ and got some weird looks for it that sent white hot embarrassment through his veins. But Clay wasn’t like that, right? Clay wouldn’t look at him like that. Wouldn’t look at George and think the worst. 

Right? Right.

“You paint your nails, George?” Clay looks back down at him, blonde hair falling in his face. The question, thankfully, doesn’t seem accusatory in any way. He’s just genuinely asking. 

George can feel Clay’s pulse thudding against the back of his own wrist.

“I mean not often, because of streams and stuff, but I figured since I’m here with you and Sap now and I’m on a bit of a break that I’d try something new—“

He’s cut off by a wheezy laugh. 

“George, it’s fine, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Clay lets go of his hand, eyes crinkled, but George can’t bring himself to move it away from the taller man’s chest. He’s not quite sure what’s paralyzing him. “I think it’s cute.”

George sputters, suddenly whipping his hand away from Clay’s chest. He knows he’s red, and every snarky comeback has gone dry on his tongue. 

He didn’t think Clay would  mind,  but  _ cute _ certainly isn’t what he expected either.

He sure as hell welcomed it, though.

“Oh, shut _up,_ ” he groans, “Don’t make me take it off.”

Clay only laughs harder, gently bumping his fist into George’s shoulder.

Once Clay’s laughter has faded and all that’s left are amusement filled murmurings of, ‘ _God, George, you’re a dick_ ’, George says something to Clay about being on his way to do something, until Clay stops him with those damn fingers around his wrist again.

“Wait, George,”

George turns to look at him, overly exaggerating a sigh. “Okay. I’m waiting.”

“D’you, uh,” he sighs. He cards his free hand through his hair, his face no longer slightly obscured in shadow. Now, George can see the freckles dotting his face and the dust of pink that sits atop them.

“Could you maybe, whenever you’re free, and you can say no, of course, uh— do mine? I just— I just think that yours look nice and they’re really cool, so,”

“Oh,” he’s increasingly aware of the fingers still wrapped around his wrist and the heat that blooms across his face, “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

“When are you free?”

“Whenever,” he breathes. 

There’s a beat. Clay adjusts his hold on George’s wrist.

“Is now okay?”

“Yeah,” he adds a quick ‘ _idiot_ ’, as to not sound so shy.

“Now show me the fucking colours that you have.”

George laughs while Clay tugs him down carpeted halls towards George’s room. 

Clay perches on George’s half assedly made bed while George pulls a small box out from under his bathroom cabinet. 

“Here, they’re glass, so don’t fucking break them,”

George puts the box next to Clay on the bed, joining him while he opens it up. Clay seemingly ignores him and dumps the box out onto the bed.

“ _ Clay _ ! Those are breakable, you absolute nimrod— Those would’ve absolutely  _ fucked  _ this comforter—“

“Nothing broke, nothing broke, your comforter is fine, Georgie” Clay grins, thumbing through the bottles on his bed while George flops back onto his pillows with a sigh.

The assortment on his bed is a lot of blue and just plain glitter, a few yellows and some absolute goddamn wild cards because George  _literally can’t see them_.

After a few minutes of quiet browsing while George hums his opinions whenever Clay holds one up, he presents a lime green bottle, “I like this one, I think.”

“Is that one green?” he asks softly. 

“Yeah.” he turns the cold glass over in his palm.

“Oh, okay, thank God, back when I bought it, the shade name on that one was so  unclear  as to what colour it was, I had to _ask—“_

Clay turns it over and surely enough, on the bottom it simply (and vaguely) says ‘ _Stencil Me In_ ’.

“What, George, were you looking for a lime green?” His voice teeters on the line between a genuine question and teasing. “That’s, like, _my_ colour, you know.”

George nods and hums in affirmation, rolling his eyes.

“I mean, even though I can’t see it properly, it reminded me of you, because it would come up when you’d Google ‘lime green nail polish’,” he says with a huff of a laugh, “Back when I got your hoodie, I think. I haven’t worn it in a bit.”

He expects Clay to make some flirty joke, or to tease him or laugh, but he just smiles and puts the rest of the bottles back into their box.

“That one, then?” George breaks the quiet.

“This one, yeah.”

“Okay, cool.” George sits up and pats the space on the bed in front of him. “Sit here.”

Clay sits crisscross in front of him, holding his right hand out.

“On my knee,” Clay places his hand on George’s knee, the other man opening the bottle of nail polish. “Now stay still, I don’t have the steadiest hand anyway.”

“I’ll try.” Clay winks. 

George rolls his eyes. “I hate you.” 

George almost finishes painting one of his hands before sighing. “Sitting in this position is uncomfortable as hell, could I just—“ he holds his hand out expectantly, eventually just taking Clay’s hand into his because apparently the blonde can’t take a fucking hint.

“Your hands are big,” George blurts after a few minutes of holding Clay’s hand. 

But not like _that_ , he’s  literally holding it, he’s just painting his nails, and holding it makes it  easier for him, that train of thought is completely and utterly  _ stupid . _

“So I’ve been told,” he laughs, a smug look spreading across his face. “Maybe you’re just _small_.”

“I am, ever so kindly, doing your goddamn nails for you, and this is how you treat me? Okay, okay. I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Bastard.”

_ Next time. _

Clay wordlessly holds his hand up, prompting George to tilt his head at him in question.

He wordlessly wiggles his fingers a couple times, and George seems to take the hint (he’s good at it, unlike a _certain_ pretty privileged blonde he knows). He flushes a little, caps the nail polish so it doesn’t ‘ _fuck the comforter_ ’, and presses his palm flat against Clay’s. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” his voice is quiet.

“ _Oh_?” Clay smirks, hair falling towards his face again, “I mean, I was half joking, but— maybe you really are just small.

“I’m not small, you just have big hands, you absolute  _ freak _ of nature—“ George shuts up fast when Clay links their fingers together. Clay peeks at him through hair that sort of hangs in his eyes.

“I mean, look at that. Your hand looks fucking  _tiny_.” 

George rolls his eyes to downplay the red on his face and tries to pull his hand away, but Clay’s hold won’t relent.

“Oh, come _on_ —“ George makes eye contact with him and can’t bring himself to finish. He swallows. Blinks a couple times. “Clay?”

Before he even knows what the hell is going on, Clay is surging forward, their lips are pressed together in a matter of seconds, and George isn’t making any move to stop him, in fact, he’s kissing back, and  God , Clay is a fucking _idiot_ but a _damn_ good kisser. His other hand is fisted inClay’s hoodie tugging him closer and Clay’s other hand is in his hair and kissing Clay just feels so fucking  right  and honestly, he’d rather suffocate here, like this, with him, than pull away for air. Clay is the smarter one here and pulls away, inhaling sharply.

When they make eye contact, he just smiles at George and his flushed face and messy hai r  and says, 

“ Well, I think  that  was a long time coming,” 

“Yeah,” he laughs softly, “ _Yeah_.”

Clay pulls his other hand from George’s hair, letting it rest by his side again, and George reluctantly lets go of the gray fabric between his fingers.

He looks down shyly, eyes flickering over to their intertwined fingers, a flash of lime green catching his eye.

“Clay, you fucking _idiot_ ,” even he can hear the affection in his voice.

“What?” Clay sits up a little straighter.

George laughs softly at him, laughs even harder at the clueless expression that he’s met with.

“Your— you—“ he tries in between giggles, “You messed your fucking nails up.”

Clay’s expression turns to one of pure shock, and surely enough—

He eyes the dents in the polish, eyes the lime green that will be staining his hoodie.

—he’s fucked his nails up.

George hasn’t stopped laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> painted my nails last night and this came to me so.
> 
> if you liked it maybe go check out some of my other work ! i work 10x harder on it than i did this fluffy lil thing
> 
> let me know what you think i thrive off feedback


End file.
